Nazareth
by LlamaMathilde
Summary: If the virgin birth wasn't real, how might the story have come about? And if it was real, how did people cope with it?


_A/N: Out of nowhere I became very interested in the virgin birth; if it wasn't true (because - it's difficult to believe), how did the story come about, and if it was, how did people cope with it? And then...I had to write it out. This is not meant to be historically accurate, or theologically apologetic, and especially not meant to offend people of any religion, although it probably does offend someone, so if it does, I apologize. _

_The setting in my head was pretty much straight from The Bronze Bow, which, yes, is a banned book in some places. I thought it was pretty good, and I didn't think it portrayed Jewish people badly - I thought it just portrayed bandits badly - that's a separate discussion._

_Scenarios 1 and 2+2a suppose the virgin birth is not real. Scenario 1 is not connected to Scenario 2.  
_

_Scenario 2+2b is ambivalent.  
_

_Scenario 2b, continued, supposes that the virgin birth is real._

_I completely and totally made up Mary's mother. If you know her real name and how a young man might have actually addressed her, please let me know. But then again, probably a young man would speak to Mary's father and not to her mother. It just worked so much better with a mother._

* * *

Scenario 1

The woman wiped her hands on her apron and frowned at the girl in front of her. "What are you talking about? How could they possibly come up with that?"

Her daughter shrugged helplessly. "That's just what they're saying. That he was born early."

"I was too young and too skinny. Of course he was born early."

Her daughter blushed. "And then old Uncle Solomon, he said you were the most pious woman he knew, and that if it were true, it could only have been because you had a dream..."  
Mary punched the dough. "Yes, yes, now I see how it went. Thank you, Solomon! He's just as bad as the others! I had a dream, all right. I dreamt I could marry your father and raise my family in peace!"

"So, it's not...true?"

"Of course it's not true! And don't you start getting any ideas, because I know how babies are made...unlike that old storyteller!"

* * *

Scenario 2

He took a breath and knocked on the door.

It opened after a few seconds, and Mary's mother peered cautiously into the darkness. "Joseph!" She swung the door open. "Come in, come in."

Joseph shook his head. "I'd rather not."

Lenta cast a troubled look back into the suddenly silent room. She stepped swiftly outside and shut the door behind her. "Walk with me."

Lenta led the young man to a corner of the walled garden, overhung by grape vines. "They can't hear us from here." She gave Joseph a hard look. "This is about Mary."

Joseph twisted his robe between strong, callused fingers. "You've heard my mother," he said. "You've heard what they're saying." He raised his eyes to hers. "I came to ask you myself. Aunt Lenta, is Mary with child? Another man's child?"

* * *

Scenario 2, option a

Lenta huffed. "If you believe it, I have nothing to say to you or your gossip mother. You think I didn't keep an eye on my daughter tight enough?"  
"But Aunt Lenta..."

"Say it quickly. I waste my time on a man who thinks ill of my daughter. She's well shot of you, I should say."

"Aunt Lenta. Mary is in the mountains, you've sent her away. And the women say – " the young man stopped and blushed.

"Yes, her courses stopped. And? So? You've seen her, she's too skinny. And she's worried about you, and living with your shrew of a mother, and frankly I don't blame her. So, we sent her away. Her uncle can feed her better up there, and her cousin is expecting a baby. She can be of some help, and she'll have some time to calm down." Lenta waited a few seconds, and when Joseph said nothing, she nodded knowingly. "I hear your mother wants a divorce for you. You want a divorce? Go ahead. But you come here and tell me yourself, and I'll thank you to stop spreading rumors about my daughter." Lenta pushed past him and disappeared inside the house, slamming the door behind her.

* * *

Scenario 2, option b

Lenta's shoulders drooped. "At least she's not the first, and she won't be the last. Look, Joseph –" Lenta's eyes were pleading. "She can stay with her cousin until it's born. We've worked it out. She can give the child away or leave it in the mountains. No one would have to know. Then she comes back here, you two get married, just as it should be."

Joseph shook his head grimly. "They already know, everyone knows, Aunt Lenta."

"But if there's no baby, it won't matter. People will forget. Joseph, Joseph!"

The young carpenter set his jaw. "I won't raise another man's child. I'm not such a fool."  
Lenta sagged against the wall. "All right, then. I'll talk with your mother."

"We'll do it quietly," Joseph offered. "I'll stop the people talking. And there'll be no – punishment," he added gingerly, wincing. "I'll make sure of that. She can marry whom she likes, now," he said, his voice turning bitter.

"Whoever that may be," Lenta sniffed, rubbing the tension out of one shoulder.

"You don't know?" Joseph asked in surprise.

"I asked the name of every boy and man I knew around here, all the Roman soldiers. The blonde one, the tall one – " Lenta shrugged. "She told me nothing."

"But..." Joseph frowned thickly. "Who's she going to marry, then?"  
Lenta shrugged again. "No one. She comes home with the baby, lives in shame, since you've so graciously pardoned her. What's it to you? It's not your problem."

"But...I thought you said...that she could give it away, or leave it to die...and people would forget."

Lenta looked at him with profound disgust. "For _you_," she said bitingly. "She could do that for _you_. That's _my_ grandchild. You think I want it beaten as a slave or eaten by wolves?"

Joseph looked bewildered. "She can't come back here with a baby and not get married," he protested, his voice rising childishly. "They'll talk about her."

"Why are you still in my garden? I said you could have your divorce, now go away."

"But- I couldn't-"

Lenta looked at the young man thoughtfully. "Would it be so foolish to raise another man's child?" Joseph was silent, but she probed the point anyway, sensing weakness. "A child that is half Mary's, after all. And would be yours to raise, to shape. To carry on your name, your traditions."

Joseph frowned at her. "You think I'm weak," he accused her. "You think that you can twist me into doing what you want. But it's not weakness, is it? It's good-ness."

"Yes, yes. Goodness."  
"It's the right thing to do. Mary keeps the baby. You keep the grandchild. I keep Mary. And she will be happy because of it? Grateful to me?" he asked pathetically.

"Oh, Joseph." Lenta brushed his arm lightly, her eyes filled with tears. "You do love her so?"

Joseph swallowed painfully, his pride making a comeback. "I'll take a night to decide," he said firmly. "I'll see you tomorrow." He turned his back on her and left the garden.

Lenta slid onto the stone bench and put her head in her hands, weeping with relief.

* * *

Scenario 2, option b, continued

"Mary!" Joseph ran to meet the donkey. He took off his hat, shading his bride's head. "Mary, you look well." About to be married, and still he could feel himself blushing.

And Mary did look well. Fresh air and fresh fruit had done her good. But she cast troubled eyes at him. Her lip trembled. "Joseph," she began.

Joseph's mouth went dry. He set the hat gently on her head. With a trembling hand, he raised the corner of her shawl, exposing the swell of her belly. He felt the words come softly. "It looks well, too."

Mary's mouth convulsed, and she put up a hand to her face. "Mother came, but I didn't believe her," she wept. "Oh, Joseph, I'm sorry I doubted you."

She had been right to doubt him, of course. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said firmly.

Mary kept her head down and both hands on the donkey's mane as they walked through the town to Mary's mother's house.

Joseph kept his head up, and he stared them all down. He raised his eyebrows at the blacksmith's son and, more importantly, the blacksmith's wife. _Yeah, that's right. Here's my wife. And my baby. And this'll be my donkey, too, thank you very much._ He met his mother's eyes, and she set her lips in annoyance but made no move. Joseph kept his back straight and weathered all the looks, grateful that the steam press and the axe had given him a carpenter's sturdy build. _I am a man's man, y'all, and won't no one be talking smack about _my_ wife!_ Finally, they were approaching Mary's mother's house, and the curious onlookers began to be outnumbered by joyous, welcoming faces. Soon the donkey was surrounded by a comfortable phalanx of allies, and Joseph let himself relax.

After several hours, Joseph felt flush from the heat of the crowded house and the congratulations, was embarrassed by the happiness in Mary's mother's eyes, and was all too glad to escape to the garden.

Mary watched him lead her towards the grapevines with a little smirk on her face. "Someone told you this was the right spot for secrets."

"Your mother-" He stopped. "Isn't it?"

"Oh, it is," Mary assured him quickly. "I just didn't expect you to know."

Joseph settled Mary on the bench and they sat companionably side-by-side. Mary leaned against him with a little sigh, rubbing her stomach absently. But after a few minutes, when he looked at her, she looked pensive rather than content.

"Is anything the matter?"  
Mary turned her dark eyes on him. "Joseph," she began slowly, "I don't want to spoil things. But before we're married..."

Joseph sat up straighter and switched his mind back on. "Yes?" he prompted.

"Have you wondered who the father of this baby is?"

He _had_ wondered, of course. He had tortured himself with this question night after night, wondering whom Mary had given herself to, and why it hadn't been him. But now it would be him, and he had finally come to peace with that question. "It doesn't matter," he said steadfastly. "It'll be our baby, and who the father is doesn't matter at all."

Mary turned such a gaze of adoration on him that he felt himself shrivel underneath the burn of it, unworthy for having ever thought differently to begin with. But then a cloud passed over her gaze. "It does matter, though," she whispered.

Joseph cracked his knuckles. "Is it a soldier?" he asked, his voice scaling up fearfully. "Will he come looking for it? And you?"

"No..."  
Joseph let out a breath. That was the worst one, he thought. An angry Roman soldier could cause a lot of problems.

"Is it someone in town? Someone I should know about?" Someone who wouldn't get their chairs fixed for a long time, that was for sure.

"No."

Joseph frowned. "A traveller?" he asked, perplexed. That really didn't seem like Mary at all.

Mary clasped one of his hands in both of hers. "Joseph, have you ever had dreams?"  
"Well, sure, I-"

"I mean special ones," Mary interrupted. "You know, from-" she raised her eyes to the heavens.

Joseph just stopped himself from laughing out loud, which would have been disastrous since Mary looked so serious, and in his relief at that, he suddenly remembered.

"Yes," he said, surprised at the recollection. "I have."

Mary looked intrigued. "Really? What happened?"  
Joseph reached out and stroked her hair fondly. "It was about you. I had –" he stopped, ashamed, but her eyes encouraged him to go on. "I had heard about you, of course, and I was asking for – guidance. Anyway," he rushed on, hoping she would overlook the fact that he had needed guidance at all, where marrying her was concerned, "I dreamt that it would be all right." He was suddenly aware of how fragrant the garden air was, and he breathed deeply.

Then he realized that Mary was giving him her full attention, staring at him with eerily intent eyes. "What was the dream like?"  
Joseph had no trouble remembering the peaceful feeling, but he struggled to remember the details. "It was a man, I think, but when I dreamt, I knew he was more like an angel. You know, the way you just know in dreams sometimes. And I dreamt that he said it was a fine thing for us to be married – well, maybe not in so many words, of course – and that our baby would grow up to be a good man, to help people, or something. I forget exactly what, but it was something good." He smiled at her. "Oh, and the man said that we should name him Jesus."

Mary's eyes were still serious, but she smiled. "You think it'll be a boy?"

"The man seemed to think so." Joseph shared Mary's gaze, looking off over the garden wall. "I think we're fortunate enough to be together. And it's a good name. If it's a boy, do you think we ought to?"

"Yes," Mary said definitely. "Joseph, I had a dream, too. No, actually, it wasn't a dream," she checked herself. "There was an angel, and he stood right in front of me." Her eyes pierced him. "This was right after we were engaged. And he said I would be with child, even though I had never known a man. And that the child would be a king."

Mary smoothed her stomach through her dress and waited for Joseph's response. To her dismay, he leapt up from the bench and turned to face her. "Mary, don't!" he exclaimed furiously.

"Don't what?"  
"Don't _lie_ to me like that!" Joseph scrunched up his eyes, and opened them to glare at her. "You! You go – around – and then you _shame _yourself, and _embarrass _me – No, don't cry!" he added desperately. He could see a few figures emerging cautiously from the house, but they stood at the edge of the garden and didn't approach. "That's not what I think any more, truly it's not, but don't you see! I've _accepted_ it. It's _fine_. I don't _care_ who the father is, but please, Mary, please, _don't lie to me!_"

Mary slapped her hands on the stone bench. "I'm _not_ lying!" she cried back, every bit as fiercely. "It's _true_! There was an angel. I saw him. I haven't been with anybody!" She was weeping openly. "Do you think it's been easy for me? I've heard what people were saying about me, what they're still saying about me! And I'm telling you, they're wrong! Nobody, there's nobody, there hasn't been anybody!"

"If there was nobody, then how do you explain how you're like _this!_" He pointed a finger at her stomach rudely, grotesquely.

Mary slid away from his finger, curled backwards on the bench. "I asked you about your dream," she sobbed. "I asked you if you'd ever had dreams from-"

"No. Oh, no, you can't be serious," Joseph raved. He stared at her and his jaw dropped. "You are! You are! But _how_? How do you expect me, everyone, _anyone_ to believe you're like some, some – _you?_" he stressed scornfully. "Really? _Lenta's _daughter? Grown up _here?_ And yet, visited by-"

Mary was still nodding defiantly, tears of outrage streaming down her face, and suddenly the fight left him.

"Oh, Mary." Joseph sat down. He reached his hands towards her and cringed when she flinched. "Oh, Mary." He tried again, and captured her smaller hands in his. "It doesn't change anything."

"Not yet," Mary mumbled truculently, her face and voice muffled in her shawl.

"All right." _We'll see._ The figures at the other end of the garden disappeared back inside the house. "It's all right," Joseph repeated.

After several moments, Mary wiped her face across her shoulder and leaned her head into Joseph's chest. He sighed heavily and kissed her hair.

"Now, who's still talking about you? We'll set them straight."


End file.
